


Make Me Feel Like I Am Breathing (Feel Like I Am Human)

by inber



Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Come Shot, Eskel is a Good 'Friend', Everyone is of age, First Time, Geralt Had A Shitty Childhood, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hand Jobs, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Not Respectful Towards Brothels, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Sweet Eskel (The Witcher), Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Geralt was subjected to different trials and was expected to be Kaer Morhen's greatest achievement. What happened instead resulted in a failure to acknowledge parts of his humanity.Or: Geralt of Rivia has never had a wank, or sex. Eskel finds out, loses his mind, and then helps him. You know, like good bros do. Just chillin' in a forest, jackin' it. Bro stuff. Everyone in this fic is of age!
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791841
Comments: 53
Kudos: 454





	Make Me Feel Like I Am Breathing (Feel Like I Am Human)

Walking the path for the first few years had not been what Geralt expected.

He left Kaer Morhen and its familiarity come spring, when Vesemir decided that there was nothing more to repair of the keep after the sacking. It was something like a hall for ghosts, now; Geralt swore he could still hear the ringing of elder witcher's voices scolding down the corridors, and the sobs of boys wracked with mutagens. Now there were only five wolves and one griffin. They'd return in the colder months to maintain the place, but honestly, Geralt was relieved to walk back into the world to fulfil his purpose.

His trainers had such faith in him; he'd endured so much suffering for the privilege of calling himself strong and capable, robbed of the dark brown of his youthful hair and the emotional agency he'd once controlled. After the attack, there would be no more Kaer Morhen wolves. Vesemir was a man of the blade, not an alchemist, and any new trials would be unproductive folly or outright murder without the mutagens. They were a rare breed, shunned by a frightened world, and yet sought by the same people that threw rotten fruit and insults.

Geralt never understood it. He supposed it was just something humans did, the divisive nature of them. Even if he could feel outrage – the way one was meant to feel it – he doubted he'd waste it on vilifying the unknown.

Perhaps it was easy for him to think that. He was a mutant, after all. So much of his humanity had ebbed, and the questions he'd had upon returning after his first patrols had been put aside in favour of more important tasks. Mourning the dead. Rebuilding the walls. Getting blind-drunk on black seagull with his tiny group of peers and splaying out in the snow, unable to cry, muttering fever memories up to the ink-spill sky. His questions remained unspoken.

Geralt walked the path.

Time moved in peculiar ways with his mutations. Sometimes it felt like a day stretched forever and night would never come, and other times he'd blink and miss two months. He'd never known his birthday – only grainy memories of snow and sweet-rolls at the start of winter – but he guessed that he was around twenty-five years old now.

Vesemir said that he'd 'settle into' his mutations, as though they were simply growing pains. Sometimes cities were too loud and bright, and he'd stick to the outskirts with his hood up, only approaching the notice boards when strictly necessary. This allowed him a modicum of safety, too; people were less likely to point and throw projectiles when he was stealthy.

He preferred the hush of the lush forest. Right now, it was verdant with spring, dew-drops clinging to white anemone flowers sprawled across the ground like a natural mattress. Roach was content too; she had her fill of the best of the newly grown grass, as well as a small bounty of hawthorn berries – a few of which Geralt had tried to salvage before she destroyed the tree completely.

There was no need for a large campfire, considering the weather, but he dug a tiny pit in order to roast some hares he'd caught. The animals were stupid with rut, and made for good provisions. As he turned the carcasses on the spit, he heard the faint sound of footsteps and hoof-beats in the bracken.

They were heavy and the gait was purposeful. Whoever it was wanted Geralt to know they were coming. He cast his sharpened gaze out into the dark emerald ocean of the forest, away from the fire, and let his pupils relax. The figure was familiar, both swords sheathed, and Geralt found himself grinning as he rose.

“Eskel!” He greeted, opening his arms.

“Well met, Geralt.” Eskel sounded just as pleased as he, and after they hugged, they clasped hands fondly. Scenting one another was typical; he was glad that Eskel smelled like earth and spring-rain and ease. No infections, no cause for concern. Judging by his best friend's face, he could tell Eskel was drawing the same conclusions of him.

“What brings you this far west?” Geralt motioned for him to sit. “Heard of the big siren contract?”

Eskel nodded, turning the spit laden with the fat hares. Juices dripped from the meat and sizzled against the charcoal. “In Gors Velen, yes. I hear they've become an awful problem north of the city.”

“Hmm.” Geralt pulled the meat off the fire, staking it into the ground, allowing it to cool. “I seek the same contract. In truth, I was not _supremely_ confident about my ability, considering the reported numbers of them.”

“Geralt of Rivia, not confident?” Eskel teased, “Well, there's a first.”

“Shut up.” Geralt reached over to slap his friend in the chest.

“Anyway, if it'll make you feel safe and secure, _I'll_ protect you--”

“I've half a mind to dose you with gull as you sleep and leave, now.” Geralt huffed.

“Well, now you've given your attack plan away. I shan't sleep.” Eskel reached over to grab some of the meat, tearing a thigh from the carcass. It was still pink with blood – just as they both preferred it.

“You open your big mouth enough. I should have ample opportunity to toss something in it.” Geralt said. He pulled the other thigh free, and for a moment, the only sound was of appetites sated as they chewed both the meat and bone. When they'd made good work of the meal, Geralt wandered away to dig a small pit to dispose of the few leftovers, to dissuade scavengers.

“Alright.” He agreed, upon returning, “We work the job together. Split the coin halfway. Sound good?”

Eskel nodded. “So long as we needn't board in the city. Stinks of rotten fish. And that's just the _brothels_.” He laughed at his own joke, but Geralt barely smirked.

“We leave early. You know how I prefer to hunt.”

“Yes, yes.” Eskel rolled his eyes, whistling for his mount.

The great stallion had been bothering Roach, who was fairly close to biting him. As Scorpion came wandering over, Eskel withdrew a section of carrot as a reward, and pulled his bedroll free. He laid it beside Geralt's, neither of them bothered about personal space. They'd grown together; they'd shared kills, shared the pain of the trials, and Eskel had been at Geralt's side after every extra mutation forced upon him, terrified. At sixteen, they'd shared their first kiss – but after that, Geralt seemed to shut down, unreachable to Eskel in that regard. So he contented himself with the platonic love they had instead.

For a time, they laid there, staring at the few stars that peeked through the canopy, breathing in the evening salt-air that blew in from the nearby coast. There was warmth in the companionship, and words weren't necessary. Eskel closed his eyes, and began to relax.

He was interrupted from sleep by Geralt's wriggling. He'd shared many a room and a bed with the man, and he was definitely the blanket-stealing type, but he wasn't usually so restless. Geralt laid on his stomach for a time, and then grunted, rolling onto his side, fidgeting with the blanket.

It was driving Eskel to distraction.

“You alright there?” He asked, lazy voice dipped in mild irritation.

“Yeah.” Geralt grunted, “Can't get... comfortable.”

Eskel drew in a breath, trying to understand his companion's physical distress. Geralt smelled like the meat from supper, and the flowers they were bedded on, and... _arousal?_ Discretely, Eskel flicked his gaze south, and noted Geralt's prominent erection.

“I know I said that the brothels were awful, but it seems as though you've need of one, regardless of class.” Eskel joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Geralt froze, not daring to look at the man beside him. He cleared his throat. “I don't... _use_ brothels.” He muttered.

“What?” Eskel propped himself onto his side, “Why not? You find willing women? I've never heard of a witcher getting bedded for free.”

Geralt shook his head. “No, I just... don't use them. And no, I haven't exactly got a list of suitors.”

Eskel frowned. “You must have one hell of a right hand, then.”

He could smell Geralt's self-consciousness. Tilting his head, he examined his friend, who was suddenly very interested in looking anywhere but in Eskel's direction. Geralt half-curled on his side, away from the other witcher.

“I don't do _that_ either.”

“ _What?_ ” Eskel blurted, unable to comprehend the situation. “Wait, why? Did the extra mutations take your abilities, too? What a horrible--”

“No.” Geralt hissed, wishing a harpy would swoop down and snatch him away, “I just... _don't._ ”

Some part of Eskel knew he shouldn't press, but another part felt that he should. “Why?” He asked again.

Geralt growled. “Because the masters who saw to my mutations _told me_ that I should focus on what I was made to do. To kill monsters and walk the path. They said anything _else_ was a distraction that I didn't need to worry about.” Shame made him feel hot. “When I asked them about waking up with... wet sheets in the night, they said my body was purging the desire from me. That is all. I just need to wait for my body to do its _fucking job_.”

Eskel had been given a very different lecture – one that involved impressing upon him that the use of whorehouses and the like was just part of a witcher's life. A way to relieve tension. Sometimes it was needed. And he'd discovered masturbation during puberty, which was a enormous help during the stresses he'd felt post-mutation.

Meanwhile, Geralt had been through the same training as him – and then worse – and had no idea as to how his body even _worked_. Some dull part of Eskel ached in sympathy at the unfairness of it. They wanted Geralt to be their greatest success, their unstoppable monster-slaying creation, and they'd rob him of whatever they had to in order to realise that dream.

 _Those people are dead, now,_ Eskel thought.

“That's not...” Eskel sighed, “They _lied_ to you, Geralt. Most people have sexual needs. And it's healthy to release them. It's actually healthier – have you ever fought a monster with an erection? Biggest pain ever. One of my potions always gets me hard, and I have to tuck--”

“It's not important!” Geralt groaned, curling a little tighter. “My body will purge it.”

Eskel paused. “How long since your body last _'did its job'_?” He whispered.

Silence. And then, “Two, three months?”

Eskel choked on his own breath. “Are you _serious?_ Geralt! That's not healthy!”

“It doesn't _feel_ right, and I wanted to ask them, but by the time I got the courage... well. There was only Vesemir, and fuck knows I am _not_ burdening him with questions about my dick right now.” Geralt angrily plucked petals off a flower next to him.

“I'm here?” Eskel volunteered, “I can answer for you?”

Geralt turned his head, then. Absently, he recalled the feeling of Eskel's mouth upon his own. They'd both had brown hair, then. “It wouldn't be too... awkward?”

His friend shook his head. “No. You deserve answers, real answers.”

Geralt swallowed. “Okay, well. I get hard, like this, a... a _lot._ ” Fuck, this was mortifying, but Eskel's expression was nothing short of patient. “It feels nice when I press it against things, but I don't... _do_ anything, as I was told. My dick is stiff every morning, and often at night, and sometimes just... in the middle of the day, and I have no idea how to make it _stop_.”

Eskel smiled gently. “All of those things are normal, Geralt. Hells, it actually tells me that you're healthy. More human than you think you are. Almost all men wake up with an erection. That one usually goes away. But the other ones? If you're alone and safe, you can take care of them.”

“Take care of them?” Geralt met Eskel's eyes, then. His own were large and vulnerable in the campfire's embers.

Nodding, Eskel raised his hand. “By stroking yourself. Witchers have high stamina – you know that – and the elixirs we take make it even more pronounced. A human man might have an orgasm and not be able to get hard again for twenty minutes. A witcher can go more than once.”

“Oh.” Geralt muttered, looking down at his crotch. He raised his hand to mimic Eskel's, trying to envision it. “And you just... squeeze?”

Eskel shook his head. “Everyone has a different... technique. But, uh,” He wondered how best to demonstrate. Geralt was looking at him with such trust, and he was terrified of breaching it. “Look, the best way is to _do it._ But I understand that it's not ideal that I'm here, so--”

“No,” Geralt said, ever-practical, “It is. You can show me how to do it right.”

If Eskel's breeches hadn't been restrictive before, they certainly were now. “Are you... are you sure?” He asked, “I am happy to, Geralt, but I don't want this to change anything between us.”

“Why would it?” Geralt asked.

Eskel shrugged. “No reason for it to. Okay, well, I guess you begin by unlacing your trousers.”

Geralt moved to comply, tugging the breeches free and releasing his cock. It was big and thick, proportional to his body. Eskel breathed to slow his heart rate, and undid his pants, too. Whilst he was an inch or so shorter than his friend, he boasted more girth.

“You're hard, too.” Geralt noted, almost scientifically.

“Yeah.” Eskel said, “Talking about sex will do that to a man. That's normal too.”

Geralt nodded, and stared at Eskel. It took him a moment to realise that he was awaiting instruction. Eskel held up his right hand.

“You can stroke yourself with a dry hand, or with spit, but for tonight's purposes we'll use a little bit of proper lubrication. It makes it feel smoother, better. Reduces the chance of you getting enthusiastic and chafing yourself.” Eskel fumbled in his pack beside him, and produced a salve that smelled faintly like cedar. He took out a scoop with his middle finger, and offered it to Geralt.

“Why would I get enthusiastic?” Geralt asked, taking some of the salve, “It's just a body function, isn't it?”

“It's _better_ than that.” Eskel smiled almost coyly. Then he began to spread the balm down his shaft, liberally coating the glans and head. Geralt watched hawkishly, copying, which only made Eskel harder. His dick throbbed, and a bead of precome glistened at the tip.

“What's that?” Geralt almost reached over, but caught himself. “I get it in my smallclothes.”

“Precome.” Eskel said. “It's something that men produce when they're turned on.” He was going to liken it to when a woman gets wet, but he supposed that'd be a pointless comparison to make. “It's natural, too.”

Geralt nodded, stroking the salve onto his dick. His face was like a revelation, and Eskel watched as his breath hitched. For a moment he wondered if Geralt needed his help at all, but he stopped after a moment, and waited for the next direction.

“Okay,” Eskel's cheeks were warming now, “I like to use my whole fist to start with. Wrap it just beneath my cockhead – _here_ – and stroke. Nice and tight, but not squeezing. Using the ring of my thumb and forefinger to brush the ridge here.” As he performed the action, Geralt mirrored him. His friend let out a low groan, blinking owlishly. “Feel okay?”

“Yeah,” Geralt affirmed, “Feels good.”

“Good.” Eskel husked, wondering how long he'd last under these conditions. He hoped he could at least get Geralt to climax first, otherwise he'd make for a rather lousy teacher. “Sometimes I just concentrate these three fingers,” He pinched his thumb, index and middle together, “And work the head and glans. Squeeze just a little.”

Geralt gasped, and bucked upwards into his own fist. Bewildered, he began to repeat the action, his huge chest heaving. The sensations were unlike anything he'd experienced; as a mutant, he felt them very strongly, and they were almost overwhelming. “Eskel,” He growled, “It feels-- _really_ good.”

Eskel nodded, biting his lower lip. “You're doing fine. Soon, you'll feel your balls start to draw up and get tense. That's normal. It just means you're going to come.”

Panting, Geralt increased the speed of his stroking. Eskel watched, murmuring soft encouragements. His own sac felt heavy and warm.

“That's it. All the way down. Can you feel it?” Eskel whispered.

“Yeah-- feels-- feels _weird_. Feels _good_ \-- hnnh-- b-but _feels_...” Geralt released his hand. “Feels like I'm gonna _lose control._ ”

“You kind of are, just for a second. That's what an orgasm is. Put your hand back on. Keep going.” His friend's voice was gentle.

“What if I... do it wrong?” Geralt whimpered, “What if I break something?”

Eskel remembered similar thoughts during his youth, and felt angry that Geralt had never had the chance to enjoy discovery on his own terms. That he'd spent so long thinking his body was a weapon, and nothing else.

“You won't.” He promised.

“I—I” Geralt's lustful eyes locked with Eskel's, confused.

He understood. “Do you want me...?” He offered. Geralt nodded vigorously.

Eskel released himself, rolling onto his side. He shucked up Geralt's sleep shirt in an effort to minimise the washing that would be required later. Then he took the other witcher's blood-hot cock and began to pump it with practised, even strokes. Geralt openly moaned, his head rolling back. His hips rutted into Eskel's grip of their own accord, and it was obvious by the pulse in his length that he was close. Eskel raked his gaze over Geralt's features, beautifully screwed shut in bliss.

“I— _Eskel!_ ” Geralt roared, his body spasming wildly, the pack of his abdomen fisting tightly. Eskel knew the other witcher didn't have words to say what was happening, but he watched with rapt delight as the first rope of Geralt's come rocketed from the tip of his quivering cock, shooting so far that it went over the witcher's head. Subsequent jets followed in copious number, not quite as powerful but certainly messy and thick. By the time Geralt was whimpering in satisfaction, his chest was completely lined with hot streaks of seed.

 _Well,_ Eskel supposed, _he had been backed up._

“Geralt?” He whispered, cupping the other man's cheek. The witcher looked dazed, still panting raggedly.

“Does it _always_... feel like that?” Geralt warbled, his words a little slurry.

Eskel smiled. “Yeah, usually. Your first time is pretty special, though.”

“Fuck.” Geralt groaned succinctly. “Fuck, _fuck._ I've been missing out on _that?_ Fuck.”

“Now you know why I wanted you to have the experience.” Eskel laughed. “It's cruel for them to keep something so pleasurable from you. And I bet you feel relaxed and sleepy now.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed, grasping his smallclothes and simply using them to sop up the puddle of come. A thought occurred to him; he knew nothing of bedroom etiquette, but it didn't seem fair that he'd had such an experience, and Eskel had not. “What about... you?”

Eskel's cock was still throbbing; in truth, he'd almost come when Geralt had, the sight of it all too erotic to ignore. But this wasn't about him. He shook his head.

“I wanted to help _you,_ Geralt. I can finish myself off in a moment.”

Geralt looked pensive, before a sudden shyness crossed his leonine features. “Can... can I?”

Eskel's throat went dry. “You don't have to...”

“I _want_ to.” Geralt whispered, and Eskel's cock twitched at the words. “Plus, it's good practice, right?”

“I guess it is.” Eskel shrugged. “I have a feeling you'll be _practising_ a lot, regardless.”

“After we deal with the sirens, I'm renting a room, getting a tub of oil, and not coming out for two days.” Geralt said, as Eskel rolled onto his back. His friend laughed, until he felt Geralt's warm fingers encircling his dick. Then he propped himself up a little to watch, breathy.

“Like this?” Geralt asked, beginning the motion he was taught. _Fuck,_ it felt so much better than Eskel's own hand. He made a low noise, rocking his hips.

“Yeah,” He breathed, “Like that. I'm not going to... last long.”

Geralt nodded, and drew from his own experience. He'd liked the way Eskel had thumbed the ridge of his cockhead before he came, and so he began to stroke him in that way, keeping the pressure slick but not painful. He listened to Eskel's escalating cries with joy.

“Geralt, I'm-- I'm _fucking coming--_ ” Eskel moaned, fisting the bedroll beneath him. His back arched as his dick pulsed strongly in Geralt's grip, ribbons of come splashing onto his chest, streak after streak. The sight plucked at something primal in Geralt, and he felt his own cock stirring again. Eskel had said that witchers had stamina, and talking about sex might give him an erection. He guessed that _seeing_ was just as powerful.

As Eskel collapsed, he put his hand over Geralt's to indicate that he needed to stop, and then shivered in the afterglow. “F-fuck, yeah,” He grinned, “Still feels amazing, and I've been doing it for years.”

“I have years to catch up on.” Geralt pouted.

“Mmm,” Eskel said, “You do. Don't worry. You have all kinds of time, I promise you.”

Lazily, Eskel began to clean himself up. Geralt laid back, feeling the ache in his groin somewhat sated, although he reckoned he could do it again with ease. A thought occurred to him.

“Will you...” Geralt began, clearing his throat, “If it's okay. Will you come to a brothel with me sometime?”

Eskel rolled onto his side, staring at his best friend with sleepy eyes. “Of course, Geralt.”

Geralt grinned, all ivory delight in the darkness. “ _Thank you,_ Eskel. For everything.”

His best friend returned the smile. “Welcome, Ger'. Night.”

“Night, Esk'.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @inber for shitposting/drabble!


End file.
